“Out.”
“Out it is,” Grace said as she started walking toward the tunnel entrance. Elizabeth had to skip a few steps to keep up with her quick pace, and when they reached the metal grate, Grace turned to her. “Now what?”
Elizabeth pulled the grate away from the tunnel wall and squeezed through.
“Oh great, I thought we were going to have to scale a cliff or something.”
“No, not yet. That’s next,” Elizabeth responded without turning.
“Seriously?” she asked, and Elizabeth released a laugh, fully enjoying watching Grace’s tough demeanor erode away.
She opened the wooden door to the outside. “No.”
Grace didn’t waste any time squeezing herself through and followed Elizabeth out the door. “Where are we?” she asked as she turned around in a circle.
“The woods.”
“Oh, thanks, I was confused for a moment and thought we were in a shopping mall.”
Elizabeth pointed. “The school’s that way, but I want to show you something.” She walked in the general direction of the lovers’ tree, scanning each tree trunk, looking for her markings. When she finally found her trail, she turned to Grace. “It’s over here.” She led her to the tree. “This is where I found the metal tags for David Collins.”
“How did you find them out here? That’s like a needle in a haystack.”
“Well, it was close. We were wandering around trying to find our way back to the school—”
She interrupted her. “We?”
“Never mind, just stay with me,” Elizabeth responded without missing a beat. “And I saw this carving.” She pointed to the heart etched into the tree.
Grace stared at her, and Elizabeth realized she would need to explain further. “This is the lovers’ tree, you know, from the note.”
Grace crossed her arms and moved closer to the carving. “Did our poet sign this note?”
Elizabeth gave her a look. “No, if I knew who wrote the note, I probably wouldn’t be traipsing through the woods, or tunnel for that matter.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Grace said under her breath, but loud enough for her to hear, and Elizabeth opened her mouth to defend herself but realized it was pointless because it was true. Traipsing through the woods and secret tunnels wasn’t so bad.
Grace circled the tree and sized it up. “So wait, does this mean that there’s something…” she paused for a moment, “or someone buried beneath this tree?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t have my shovel.”
“Is there anything else you want to show me?”
“Nope, that pretty much concludes our tour.”
“Thank God. Let’s go.”
Elizabeth navigated her way back to the school and checked the church and dormitory doors to make sure that they were secure, while Grace stood facing toward the tunnel entrance. Elizabeth stood next to her, and Grace pointed. “The tunnel entrance is there. From what I can tell, the tunnel ran this way and would have continued going down there.” She pointed out the path as she spoke, and she was now pointing in the direction that led farther down the road past the school.
“What’s down there?” Elizabeth asked, following her finger.
“Let’s find out.”
When they returned to the car, Elizabeth inspected her tires, which were intact.
“What are you doing?”
She relayed the story of the mysterious closing of the tunnel door and slashing of her tires on her last visit, conspicuously leaving out Father Parker’s name in the retelling to protect him from any possible repercussions.
“Oh, now you tell me,” Grace said.
Elizabeth shrugged and pulled her keys from her pocket, pulling the matchbook out with them. She opened her car door and tossed the matches into the center compartment and started the engine, then casually watched and waited as Grace settled in. Even though they were being friendly, she knew their alliance was fragile.
She turned the car down the road past the school. On her prior visits to the school, Elizabeth had never ventured past the school, and she was now curious. In less than a half mile, a building emerged, and the road abruptly ended. “This must be the mill.”
Although the building still stood, time had not been kind. What was once a proud building now sat sagging and weathered. The paint was faded and peeling, with the wood supports showing signs of rot. The windows were boarded, likely to keep out vagrants and troublemakers. With no one to defend the building’s integrity, the overgrowth of the brush from the woods was encroaching upon the grounds surrounding the building. Weeds were erupting between the cracks of the blacktop and overtaking the parking lot. Elizabeth felt a sense of sympathy for the structure.
Grace clearly didn’t share the same sentiment. “This place is a piece of shit.” She opened the car door and began circling the structure while scanning the grounds as she walked. Elizabeth walked around the other way. A moment alone from Grace was needed to settle the mixed feelings Grace aroused in her, a combination of agitation and exhilaration.
As Elizabeth scanned the property, she noted that there was nothing remarkable about the location, other than the fact that it was isolated, but for its only neighbor, the school. The woods surrounded the three sides, and she guessed that Grace was right. The tunnel did appear to head in this direction. As she stood at the side of the building staring out toward the direction of the school, Grace stole behind her. “Boo!”
Elizabeth jumped and impulsively turned and slapped Grace in the arm. “Damn it! You scared me,” she said.
“Ouch, you hit me,” Grace whined while rubbing her arm.
Elizabeth turned away from her and gave a small smile. “Did you see anything?” she asked.
“Nothing but a dilapidated building.”
“Well, if the tunnel does come this way, it could have an entrance in the basement, like the church,” Elizabeth reasoned.
“I think the bigger question is why?”
Elizabeth shook her head in response.
“Well, let’s get out of here.”
Normally, Elizabeth would have protested and argued to explore the woods for another entrance or use her handy bolt cutters to get into the building, but she suspected Grace was less inclined to recklessly follow her on one of her adventures. In that regard, Father Parker was more fun. Who would have thought I would have found a priest more fun? They spoke very little on the return drive to the courthouse, and the bit of conversation they had related to the case. It was as though by silent agreement they had resumed their professional status once again.
“So, you said that you learned the identity of the foster parents of David Collins?” Grace asked.
Elizabeth nodded.
“Have you talked to them?”
She shook her head.
“Do you speak?”
Elizabeth nodded, her professional demeanor waning. Why did she enjoy irritating Grace so?
“Give me their information, and I’ll check them out,” Grace said.
Usually, Elizabeth would have been taken aback by being ordered around, but she saw the advantage of allowing Grace to do this assignment. A detective would likely have greater access to any additional information out there about David’s placement and subsequent disappearance from the system, and Elizabeth would be free to search the origins of the mill.
When she pulled up to the court parking lot, Elizabeth pulled out the slip of paper with the requested information and read it off, and Grace exited the car with a promise of letting her know what she found out. Elizabeth took a brief moment to rest her eyes and reflect on the changing relationship with Grace from one of hostility, to an indifference, to…what? A cordial working relationship? No, it seems more than that, perhaps a working friendship. That’s it, a working friendship.
Elizabeth returned to the clinic, but only after stopping off to see Rich at the county recorder’s office. She wanted to know who owned the mill and hoped this would hel
p piece together what she was missing.
As she strolled through the reception area of the clinic, Amy sat in her usual spot with a phone to her ear. She lifted her index finger in the air, beckoning Elizabeth to stop, and she waited patiently as Amy finished her call.
“Dan wants to see you,” Amy said with a blank expression.
“Thanks.” Elizabeth gave her a tight smile. Somehow, she knew this wouldn’t be good.
She approached Dan’s office and rapped on the door frame as he sat with his back to her, staring out the window. His view was no better than hers, so she knew he wasn’t taking in the scenery, but lost in thought. He swiveled his chair to face her.
“Come in,” he replied without making eye contact.
She took the seat across from him, dropping her bag at her feet, and clasped her hands in her lap, waiting.
“I heard about the court ruling this morning.”
She remained silent, curious as to how he had come to learn this information, or more appropriately, from whom?
“Elizabeth, I think it’s time that we part ways.”
Although she expected a reprimand that wasn’t deserved, she didn’t see this coming. “You’re firing me?”
“I’d like to say that we have grown apart, and we no longer see eye to eye on what’s in the best interest of this clinic.”
“You can’t be serious. This is all about the Raymond Miller case. I may actually prove that an innocent man went to prison, and you think this isn’t in the best interest of the clinic. What you really mean is, it’s not in the best interest of your donors, like the mayor and his cronies.” She didn’t care how much she angered Dan because she had nothing to lose. She was being fired.
Dan flinched at the remark, but didn’t respond to it. “Please close out what cases you can by the end of the week. What you can’t complete, leave a detailed memo of what must be done and leave it with me.”
She figured that he must still have some trust in her as he was giving her until Friday to finish up, instead of booting her out on the spot. For that, she was grateful because she hated the thought of leaving her clients and their cases hanging. At least she had time to put closure on some of the pending matters.
Elizabeth rose and grabbed her bag without saying a word and exited, crossing the office past Jeff who was standing at a large copy machine, whistling a nameless tune. This wasn’t the defective machine with an attitude that threatened Jeff within an inch of his life the last time she saw him standing at a copy machine. This was a technologically advanced machine that hummed in appreciation at being given the opportunity to serve its master. She shook her head at the machine. The donors must have paid their dues.
Chapter Twenty-five
Elizabeth was awakened by her cell phone and momentarily stared at it, trying to remember how to answer it. With success, she put it to her ear, but before she could speak, she heard, “Pieter Spiedel.”
“Uh, who is this?” Her voice cracked as she spoke.
“It’s Rich, and it’s Pieter Spiedel of the Spiedel Trust,” Rich answered with excitement.
Elizabeth looked at her bedside clock that read 6:45 a.m. Confused, she asked, “Do you know what time it is? Where are you?”
“Not where, who.”
“What?”
“No, who,” he corrected her.
She scratched her head, “Am I Abbott or Costello?”
“Don’t you get it? The Spiedel Trust owned the mill.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, closing her eyes and sinking back into her pillow.
“The mill was owned by a series of holding companies, so I had to dig through and really trace them, but eventually it led to the Spiedel Trust, which is, or was, controlled by Pieter Spiedel. The trust is responsible for funding some of the country’s most cutting-edge and sometimes controversial medical research.”
Elizabeth sat back up, resigned that she wasn’t going to get the extra fifteen minutes of sleep. “So, the mill wasn’t a mill?”
“No, it was. It operated as a textile mill, but from everything I see, at a loss for many years before it closed down. I’ll send you the information.”
They exchanged good-byes, with Elizabeth expressing her gratitude for Rich’s diligent work, and he was pleased to have earned her praise.
*
Elizabeth spent the morning locked in her office sorting through files and preparing to-do memos for the unfinished cases. Satisfied that she at least had it organized, she turned her attention to the information Rich had emailed her.
Pieter Spiedel was a man of substantial wealth as an innovator in the stock and bond market. As Rich had briefly explained on the phone, the sole purpose of his namesake trust was to fund novel medical and scientific research. She learned from Rich’s extensive background information that Spiedel suffered from multiple sclerosis and was looking for the Holy Grail in medical research, which he apparently did not find, as he died in 1985. However, the trust and Spiedel’s quest continued to live on with Spiedel’s nephew, Bradley Iverson, as successor trustee.
Rich understood Elizabeth well and had the forethought of providing Bradley Iverson’s information, but in reviewing Iverson’s bio, she knew that they didn’t run in the same circles and wouldn’t likely have a chance encounter at the corner deli. Fortunately for her, Charles Campbell did run in Iverson’s circle. Campbell, Roberts, Addelstein, and Krass were the counsel of record for Spiedel Trust, and she was going to need her father’s name to get her on the inside. Two months ago, she would have balked at this idea, but not now, not since Raymond entered their lives. Little did she realize how much Raymond had changed them. Elizabeth saw her parents very differently now.
She lifted her receiver and dialed a familiar number. “Hi, is Charles Campbell available? This is his daughter.”
*
Bishop Pallone knew the iron cross to which the covert note referred. It was in the memorial cemetery located at the base of the hill, upon which the white chapel sat. As the evenings were arriving sooner now, he decided to leave early. It would do him no good to be late and possibly miss his informant.
Despite his position within the church, he had little freedom or power in his own life to come and go as he pleased. He couldn’t simply request a car; he had drivers. He couldn’t simply walk the streets without a care; he would be noticed, but he had time to think it through.
A quick visit to a church donation center supplied him with street clothes, clothes he hadn’t worn in thirty years. He neatly folded the clothes into a canvas bag, placing them on top of a neatly wrapped white package, containing bundles of hundred-dollar bills. He concealed the bag below his tunic, which rubbed uncomfortably against his leg. After starting out on his routine walk through the garden, he turned off and entered a public bathroom where he changed, stuffing his tunic into the back of a cupboard below the sink.
When he exited the bathroom, he assumed his new identity of a common man. He quickly moved to the street, enjoying the freedom of movement that his new clothes offered, a freedom he had long forgotten. He walked to the main boulevard and raised his arm at an oncoming taxi, but the taxi passed him by, and he muttered under his breath. He continued his quest, at first raising his arm at the oncoming cabs, but later he resorted to flapping and waving his arms in the air after he was passed over several times. He realized that his church clothes offered him privileges that he was now sorely missing. At long last, a cab driver took mercy on him and pulled to the curb.
Pallone looked down at the dingy faux leather seat that sported gray tape to seal the cracks. The driver didn’t turn but watched him through his rearview mirror. “Where to?”
He provided his desired location, and the driver raised his eyebrows but didn’t say a word and pulled into traffic, earning a few honks by other drivers that caused Pallone to cringe and grasp his chest. The driver easily navigated the city and quickly pulled up to the gates of the cemetery.
“You sure this is where you want to
go?” asked the taxi driver.
“Yes. How much?” He pulled out a wad of cash stuffed in his front pocket that he had “borrowed” from the petty cash fund. After paying the driver, he was left alone at the entrance, and he cautiously entered, thankful that the gates were still open. The sun was quickly setting.
The iron cross could be easily spotted in the center of the cemetery. He approached it and stood at its base, staring up at the enormity of it. To its left, a cement pathway wound up the hill to a church, and he moved to it and ascended the hill. He approached the front door and pulled, surprised to actually find it open.
“What idiot actually leaves a church wide open just waiting for hooligans?” he said.
He slowly stuck his head in the door and peered around the room. It was small, with less than a dozen rows of pews, clearly meant for small funeral services only. Assured that he was alone, he entered the church and sat in a middle pew, without offering the sign of the cross. He pondered his lack of church etiquette and decided it was the clothing. It made him a different person, a person who wasn’t expected to worship any particular god or religion. He found that liberating in a way that surprised him.
He closed his eyes, taking advantage of the solitude, and waited. His stomach fluttered in anticipation of what was to happen next, and he took slow breaths to calm his nerves, until his breath became shallow. His head fell forward and startled him. He looked out the stained glass windows to his side and realized darkness had fallen. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep and urgently looked around the room and found that he was still alone.
Unsure if he was relieved or disappointed, he pulled himself up, leaning on the back of the pew for support as he rose. Lamps from the outside offered a little illumination into the church, and Pallone slowly navigated his way up the aisle toward the back of the church through the near darkness. As he reached for the door, he heard a small noise from the front of the church and jumped at the sound.
Sins of Our Fathers Page 19
